Eusocial animals live in tightly organized societies, like bee hives, where the survival of the group always matters more than the life of any single member. Did you know that if a worker bee becomes unproductive due to injury, illness, or old age, healthy bees detect this pretty quickly and push her out of the hive? Scientists aren’t really sure how they know. Perhaps they notice the worker’s sluggish movements, or they somehow detect subtle chemical signals. Outside the humming sanctuary of the hive, the outcast faces a grim fate indeed. Will she wither in the cold? Will she starve? I picture her wings flapping uselessly against the sharp beak of some sinister bird.
Like bees, People are social animals, too, driven by a deep need for social acceptance. In my last blog post about the sex offender registry, I mused that highly social societies probably needs pariahs in order to function. My friends called it “a bit bleak.” It’s time to offer a more hopeful perspective.
Here is my first cheerful observation: registrants face a stigma that is at least theoretically tied to their own actions, not to their birth. There was no “redemption,” for example, for India’s untouchables. The Paraiyar, the Tamil undercaste that gave us the word “pariah,” existed beyond the social order. They were born into permanent exclusion, far outside the hive. When a society casts certain members out because of something they’ve done, however, there is psychological space for the outcasts to reinvent themselves through further action and rejoin the collective. Imagine the bee we observed earlier saying, “You know what, screw you, I’m building my own hive.” Imagine her doing it. Imagine new bees moving in. But just because something is possible does not mean it’s easy.
The Paradox of Total Affliction
The anguish of social exclusion, and humanity’s longing for redemption and reintegration amid that pain, is evident in our most ancient texts. Last month, synagogues worldwide read Leviticus 13:12-13, which describes tzara’at, a skin condition often mistranslated as leprosy. People afflicted with this condition were deemed impure and evicted from the broader community. Unless, that is, they were completely covered in sores. Total affliction made the person pure again. “If the tzara’at breaks out all over the skin… and it is all turned white, he is clean.” The Talmud opined that their uniform whiteness signaled the end of their disease. Mystical readings (e.g., Zohar) linked tzara’at to spiritual flaws. Perhaps the true meaning of the text is that inner brokenness eventually becomes fully visible. When there is no more possibility of concealment, divine mercy necessarily arrives.
The paradoxical idea that total affliction can purify and heal extends beyond religion. Modern psychologists, like Brené Brown, celebrate failure’s redemptive arc. “Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change,” she writes in Daring Greatly. The idea that we can benefit from “hitting rock bottom” has profoundly shaped American culture. We honor survivors of every imaginable calamity who manage to rebuild their lives. We revere college dropouts and people who get fired from their jobs, then bounce back. Our grace has limits, and it doesn’t always extend to registrants. Anthony Weiner’s failed political comeback post-sex scandal is a case in point. Public backlash and media scrutiny derailed his political campaigns. Still, hope persists. The possibility of reinvention remains our cultural promise.
The Fearlessness of the Condemned
The photographer Diane Arbus was captivated by society’s outcasts. She photographed dwarfs, giants, transgender individuals. In a 1960 lecture, she said, “Most people go through life dreading they’ll have a traumatic experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They’ve already passed their test in life. They’re aristocrats.” For many, stepping into the world as a registered sex offender is a calamity unlike any other. But then the worst has happened, and fear loses its grip. You are still there. You’re still caring for your parents, still working, still raising children, or maybe you are just putting one foot in front of the other. Simply existing is a quiet rebuke to society’s power to destroy.
Limits and Possibilities
Life on the registry can unfold in all sorts of ways. In the face of brutal job discrimination, many registrants start businesses. They start carpentry shops, machine shops, landscaping firms, dog-walking services, food carts, and car-detailing operations. Some choose quieter paths, working remotely as freelance programmers or graphic designers. Like small business owners everywhere, they appreciate having control over their own time, and enjoy seeing results that actually correlate with personal effort.
Registrants fall in love, get married, and raise families. Being on the sex offender registry often bars individuals from dating sites, since many popular platforms like Tinder or Match.com exclude registrants. Despite such obstacles, registrants meet new partners anyway and form deep relationships. Perhaps this stems from the openness their status sometimes demands. When forced to disclose ugly things early on, people are sometimes able to bypass superficial courtship, forming bonds with partners who value candor over pretense. Honesty builds strength and promotes trust.
Of course, not every registrant is out there defying expectations. Some people on the registry face overwhelming burdens they never overcome; the fall apart instead. The stigma of registration can be especially harmful to those with intellectual disabilities, mental health conditions, or autism, since it tends to amplify already existing challenges to social integration. Yet human resilience is a stubborn fact. Countless people, including some with serious disabilities, endure and persevere. They gradually come to accept what cannot be undone and keep pressing forward.